Lie with Me (36 page)

C
am was going out of his fucking mind pacing the first floor of his house, waiting for Sky to return.

She’s at the doctor, Cam. Calm down
, Dylan had told him.

But she’d forgotten her phone, which Cam now held in his hand. Was practically holding his breath too.

And when he finally saw his truck coming up the long driveway, he exhaled and went to meet her in the garage.

She didn’t notice him at first, was busy pulling her bag out of the truck, but when she got halfway to the door, she looked up and saw him. And dropped everything in order to run to him.

He buried his face in her hair, held her as close as he possibly could while still letting her breathe. And then he was kissing her, hard and demanding, and she was kissing him back with the same fervor.

God, he never wanted to let her go. Wouldn’t. He carried her inside the house and put her down in front of him and simply stared at her for a second. And then remembered he was angry.

“Where the hell were you?” he demanded. “You should’ve been back hours ago.”

“I’m sorry. I was driving around for a while.”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen at the doctor’s?”

“No, that’s all fine—my health is perfectly fine. I was with my father,” she admitted. “He was waiting for me in the car when I came out of the hospital. And I had to talk to him, to finish things.”

He nodded, because he understood. “And did you?”

“He wanted me to go with him. He said he’s not going after DMH anymore. He told me … things I didn’t want to know. About your father, what he’d done. And he said he’d told you.”

“He did.”

“I know why you hate him so much.” Her voice sounded pained, and he touched her cheek, managed a small smile for her before he said, “No, not anymore. Like you said, Gabriel’s a part of you—and if I hated him, then I’d always hate a part of you.”

“He knows why I refused to go with him, knows it was because I want to be with you.”

Her voice—its strength couched in soft tones—stripped away any defenses he had left. If he was honest with himself, that had happened nearly immediately, when he’d walked into that vacation house … and stripped them down and lay with her. Taken her.

Claimed her.

She was his. “I’m always going to make sure you’re safe.”

“I’ve been fine.”

“I know that. Dylan and Riley keep me up-to-date.”

“They watch me?” She shook her head. “I should’ve known. I thought they were just being helpful because you were gone.”

“Well, there’s that too. They like you, you know. It hasn’t exactly been a hardship.”

“You really think I need to be looked after still?”

“I wasn’t taking any chances. I’d have done it myself if I could have, but I had commitments to honor first. I’ve done my last mission for Delta, though. It’s time for a fresh start.”

She frowned a little. “You’re not going to give up helping people, are you? You’re really good at it, you know.”

“I won’t be stopping that, no. But for a while, I’d just like to
be.
” When he’d looked in the mirror to shave that morning, he’d been startled at the difference, how much more at peace he looked than the man who’d showed up at Sky’s door that first night.

“I can understand that,” she told him softly, let him envelope her in his arms for a moment before pulling back to look at him.

“Besides, I have a bigger job now.” He slid his hands in hers. “Keeping you healthy and safe.”

“What if that takes a long time?”

“It could take forever. And I’ll be right next to you.”

She nodded, tears in her eyes, and he knew that the feeling of contentment that surrounded him would be more than enough for him, would be what he’d been searching for all this time.

He was finally home.

If you loved LIE WITH ME
,
don’t miss the next book in Stephanie’s
red hot Shadow Force series

PROMISES
IN THE
DARK

Coming December 2010

Read on for a sneak peek …

PROLOGUE

The past is never dead
.
It’s not even past
.
William Faulkner

Freetown, Sierra Leone

O
hmohs … Ohmohs?

How much?

The incessant calls echoed in his ear, a mix of Krio and English he wouldn’t soon forget as he ran through the crowded marketplace along the narrow streets by the harbor. He’d long ago grown immune to the noise, the dust, the bodies that passed too close. Learned how to be invisible so he could steal food, clothes and whatever else he needed to survive in the busy place. Even pickpocketed the occasional tourist.

To blend in, he’d covered his head so the blond hair wouldn’t make him stand out more. Rubbed his face with a fine dust and kept his eyes averted, because there was nothing he could do about the blue color, which got more intense as his skin tanned under the hot sun.

He would not get stolen or sold again.

He remembered the last town he and his parents had traveled to. The soldiers had come in one night, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could still hear his mother’s voice, begging,
Don’t hurt my son
.

He hated that that was the only thing he could recall of her now, the rest overshadowed by the horror he’d seen.

And they
had
hurt him, dragged him away from his parents and put a cloth in his mouth that made him sleep.

When he’d woken up, he was with a new family.

Udat wan ehn uswan yu want?

Which one do you want?

He’d lasted for a day before he escaped, even though there was no one to go back to. He’d found a deserted alley to sleep in for a few nights, until some other boys found him. Some American, some African.

All had the same story. And so those friends he’d made became his family. Together they stayed free, and he lost track of the long days that stretched into even longer nights.

There were five boys altogether, the oldest being twelve.

He was eleven, but felt so much older. He ached in a way he shouldn’t, because he knew too much.

The oldest boy taught him, kept them all moving from place to place. Recently, they’d crashed in an abandoned warehouse that seemed promising for longer than a few nights. Plenty of spots to hide.

There were rumors of a place close by that helped kids, but the oldest boy warned that it would happen again if he told his story.

No one wants to help us
.

He didn’t feel well, hadn’t wanted to go hunting through the stalls for something to eat, but the rest of the group was counting on him. His stomach burned, tight from hunger. He’d never get used to that, the gnawing feeling that he would never be full or comfortable again.

Even after he ate, he felt sick.

That didn’t stop him from grabbing bread filled with fish and rice. The tourists haggled, the locals smiled and the music pounded in his ears.

Today was easy—the market was packed and the small fight that had broken out helped him. He moved past the chaos toward his escape route.

“Boy.” A man clapped a hand on his shoulder and spoke loudly. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

The feeling closed in on him again—he was too small, too weak. Suffocating under the disguise. He opened his mouth to say,
I’m with my mother
, to point to some unsuspecting woman who would not claim him, but nothing came out.

Instead, he jerked away from the man, who no doubt had seen him steal one of the day’s prizes, and ran down the alley. No one followed, and he considered it a victory, stuffed some of the bread into his mouth and chewed, the roiling in his stomach abating for the moment.

He would go back to the warehouse and share the rest.

But as he slowed to a walk, a bag went over his head, blocking both light and air. He struggled, but the body against his was bigger and stronger.

Later, he would learn not to struggle, that going limp was actually a better move. That a swift skull to the attacker’s chin with the element of surprise was damned effective.

But then he’d known next to nothing … except for the fact that no one would ever get the best of him again.

When he opened his eyes, he was in a drug-filled haze. It might’ve been minutes later, or hours, or days—and he knew it didn’t matter anyway.

A man and a woman stood over him. They looked concerned, but he had to get away from them.

Panic turned to terror, even as the man held him to stop him from shaking and the woman spoke of home and brothers. School, play and
nothing bad will ever happen again under our watch
.

This time, he didn’t have the strength not to believe them.

CHAPTER

1

Seventeen years later, Kambia, Sierra Leone

T
his was the place—the small house with the light purple facade that looked like every other tin-roofed pastel-colored one that lined the wide dirt road; the market that ran nearly down the center, allowing a small area for cars to lumber through, and teemed with people, none of who seemed to notice or care that it was hotter than hell at 0800. Music blared from one of the opened windows, an incessant fixture, as if it covered the violence and misery and fear and lightened the worry.

Maybe it worked. This area was more prosperous than most, and the feeling of hope remained here. Or maybe that was his own projection.

From out of his pocket, he took the picture—worn from carrying it around for the better part of six months—and shoved it at the African man who waited at the door.

The man stared at it, frowned, then nodded. “Yes. I’ve seen her.”

“Where? Show me.”

“She is there.” The man pointed to a spot on the equally worn map that was held out to him, then took the money—American dollars—pressed into his opened palm. “You are military? Soldier?”

“Just a tourist. Here for the scenery.”

The man furrowed his brow, not believing a word of that. “You are not the first one to look for this woman today.”

But I’ll be the first one who gets her
, Zane promised himself. It was the third town he’d visited in less than twenty-four hours. He’d done this one on foot because the last driver refused to come this far out into the bush. But he’d known he would hit pay dirt here.

The man stepped back into the shadows after drawing a crude map of the exact location Zane needed, even as the children who’d been eyeing him from afar ran past when they thought he wasn’t looking and then circled around to approach him.

One of them didn’t turn away when Zane eyed him. The brave one, who’d lost his fear years earlier.

Zane recognized the look, chin jutted with bravado—real or faked, it didn’t matter, it was an
I’m not scared of you
attitude.

“Money?” he asked in English as he held out his palm, defying Zane to say no.

Zane dug into his pocket, pulled out some crumpled bills and watched the kid’s eyes widen as he handed them over. Then he turned and walked away.

Stick with those you can save, because you sure as hell can’t save them all
.

He stood taller than most here, looked over the crowds as the smell of cooked fish and rice floated through the warm air, as women and men tried to sell him everything from carvings to homemade falafel. Even weapons were fair game, with those vendors whispering to him from dark corners as he strode past in search of any kind of goddamned vehicle to take him farther in-country.

He’d have to pay in order not to have a driver, but he didn’t need the added burden of another person. And when he found an old Land Rover, he bargained with the owner until he was able to drive away alone, kicking up dust behind him, his roll of money a lot smaller.

But he had cans of gasoline and the engine was decent. With the windows rolled down and his weapons hidden under a false third seat, an added bonus, he was prepared for various checkpoints and other assorted fun times in this country.

He should check in with his brother Dylan; would when he got farther along. Right now, there was nothing to report other than he was closer to his goal.

They’d been
closer
to the doctor for months now. Frustrating as hell, and Zane wasn’t about to jinx it.

When Dylan told him about the new intel on Olivia, Zane had taken leave and insisted on going to Africa. Didn’t give a fuck that Dylan and Riley couldn’t join him immediately.

He wouldn’t waste a day waiting for backup. Not in this case.

If Dr. Olivia Strohm had truly spent the last three months successfully evading DMH—an extremist group with terrorism ties and business all over Africa ranging from skin trade to black market weapons—rescuing her was something he could damned well do on his own.

We’ll meet you in seventy-two hours
, Dylan had promised.
That should give you plenty of time
.

He would meet his brother at the port in Freetown. A place he’d never thought he’d go to again.

In his time with the military, he’d traveled to many cities along the western edge of Africa, in the Ivory Coast and Liberia and elsewhere. Somehow, Freetown was always avoided, because it was a major port—too crowded for stealth.

The crowds had been the thing that saved him once. Now the thought of going back made his blood run cold. The Kambia District was close enough, the market smaller than he’d remembered and far more dangerous than he could’ve known when he was merely a boy.

Thank God for small miracles.

His life had been built on small and not so small miracles, from his adoption to his live-for-the-moment lifestyle, which had worked really damned well for him. For Zane, time off had always equaled trouble—he liked to keep busy, keep moving, and when he was on leave, his brother—the spy for hire—could always find him something to do. Black ops, gray ops, it didn’t matter, had been on as many missions with both the SEALs and his brother in an unofficial capacity. But this was by far the most important one he’d ever done.